The Shadow Pack
by SometimeSelkie
Summary: After Voldemort's demise, Remus Lupin hopes to settle into quiet domestic life with Tonks despite the Ministry's increasing restrictions on werewolves. A series of devastating events occur that render the simple life impossible. PostHBP.
1. The Lone Wolf

A/N: This fic is part of a post-HBP alternate history where Voldemort was vanquished in the middle of Harry's seventh year (see my profile for details). This story begins about a month after the final battle.

Standard disclaimers apply.

**Chapter One: The Lone Wolf**

_January 13, 1998_

Remus Lupin pulled himself upright, hissing between his teeth. The wooden floor of his cell was raw and unvarnished, definitely not somewhere pleasant to spend the night. His shoulder felt half-dislocated and he was going to have to do substantial work on himself to erase the scratches peppering his body. But through the room's single window, an overbright shaft of winter sunlight flooded in and warmed his torso. That was something, at least.

If someone had told him when he was a teenager that one day he would dearly miss Severus Snape, Remus would've laughed himself silly. Here he was, though, wishing that Snape was still alive and available to brew Wolfsbane. This marked his seventh transformation without it, and he marveled at the abuse his body had been able to take when he was younger. Either he had damaged himself over the years or he was simply getting old. If he asked Dora, she'd certainly assert the latter.

A small smile crept across Remus' features as he hobbled stiffly towards the door and threw the complicated, werewolf-proof lock on the door, stepping eagerly back into the warmth of the small cottage he shared with Nymphadora Tonks. The kitchen, for once, was pristine. He entered their bedroom and noticed that the bed was made and only three sets of robes were strewn over the smoothed blankets. It seemed that Dora had finally decided to take him seriously when he said he was sick of everything being a mess after transformations and having to clean up when he wasn't feeling well.

The memory of their last argument made him feel more than a twinge of guilt. Really, the young Auror was too good to him and already went so far out of her way to accommodate him. She bought this cottage in the middle of nowhere so that he could safely transform, even though he was sure she would be happier in a cosmopolitan flat of some sort. There were a lot of places he wasn't welcome, as a known werewolf, and they were surviving solely off of her salary. She always teased him by saying he earned his rent as her love slave, but she was still young and he wondered how long she'd be content at their modest standard of living as her friends moved into more extravagant lifestyles. Thank heavens for her friends, though. Dora ran with a great group of people. They were accepting of her relationship with him and treated him like any normal wizard, and were available for Dora to do her "young people stuff", as she called it. Among other things, she could count on them to go out on the town with her once a month during the full moon. Poor Dora, she couldn't stand to hear him howling and tearing all night long. It was a better arrangement all ways around if she wasn't there; she could blow off steam and avoid hearing him, and he didn't wake up fearing that he'd escaped and hurt her in some way.

Remus threw on a pair of loose flannel trousers and went back to the kitchen, where he took a bar of chocolate from the kitchen counter and put a rather large chunk in his mouth. Still chewing, he ambled over to the fridge and examined its contents. He selected a plate of roast beef and began to eat it cold at the table. It was so routine for him that he was only dimly aware that his food choices didn't mix well. He always made enough meat for leftovers before the full moon. Tonight he'd make something for her. She adored everything stir-fry. Maybe he'd hit up Diagon Alley for some fresh ingredients.

"Hello? Hellloooo! Anyone awake? I'll come through here if I have to!" The female voice was emanating from the living room. Remus padded over and, as he suspected from the timbre of the voice, Estella Dearborne's head was nestled in the emerald flames of the fireplace. The Auror was Dora's close friend and co-worker. "Morning, Remus!" she said cheerfully. "I'm just here on break to check on the sickie."

Remus blinked at her in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Is she asleep?" Estella stuck her head as far into the living room as she could, blowing her fringe out of her eyes so she could better see her surroundings.

"Who?"

"Tonks, of course! Rough night, was it?" she asked, surveying his injuries. "Did you hit your head?"

"Dora's at work," Remus said slowly. "With you."

Estella's ever-present grin slid off her face. "No she ent. She was so sick last night that she barely stayed out at all. I..." The grin returned. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Estella, where is Nymphadora?"

"You're...not joking?"

"When did you see her last?" he pressed her.

"Last night! She looked peaky, so I offered to accompany her home but she laughed me off, you know how she is."

Remus' insides turned to ice. "She didn't come home last night," he breathed. "I thought she'd cleaned up, but she wasn't home to make a mess."

Estella's hazel eyes were wide. "Remus, this isn't good."

"You're _positive _she's not at work?"

"You're positive she's not here?" she retorted.

"I- could you put a trace on her?" he asked.

Estella bit her lip. "She'd have to be missing three days-"

"Look, she's obviously missing."

"I might be able to swing twenty-four hours if I say she missed an expected engagement, but Remus, you can't authorize it. You're not next-of-kin."

"I'm going to her parents then," he said grimly. "And I'll try to trace her myself in the meantime."

Estella nodded. "I don't know if she planned to Apparate or Floo; it could've been either since she'd only had a Butterbeer or two. I'll get people out around the Dragon's Claw to look for any clues. This isn't right."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. We haven't found her yet." Estella blinked. "I didn't mean it like that. Let's just say that the girlie's going to have a _lot_ to answer to for making us so worried!" She offered Remus a wry smile.

"I'd better go get dressed."

"Why bother?" she quipped. "Just convince people bare chests are werewolf chic."

"Ha ha," he said humourlessly as she disappeared back into the fire.


	2. Conveyance

**Chapter Two: Conveyance**

The Burrow was inviting – warm, with a merry curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Remus could hear the clatter of dishes and that clinched it. He really didn't feel like going home to the empty cottage to wait, even if it was the place Dora was most likely to turn up. He rapped on the back door. George Weasley answered, a dishrag in his hand. "Mr. Lupin," he said, his voice devoid of surprise or pleasure. "Please, come in."

"Thank you, George, but you don't have to call me mister."

"Nonsense, Remus," Molly Weasley said from the sink. "He was raised right." She turned back to scrubbing a large casserole dish.

"Is that all, Mum?" George asked softly. Watching the young man comport himself with reserved dignity simply added to the surreality of Remus' day. Then again, he had also rarely seen George without Fred. It was something he would have to get used to.

Molly was either used to her son's new demeanour or distracted. "Yes, thank you." George replaced the towel without ceremony and slunk out of the room, narrowly avoiding a collision with his younger brother. Ron Weasley skidded up to the counter and grabbed a sac off the counter with his only arm. "You're going to be late," Molly chided.

Ron blinked in surprise as he caught sight of Remus. "Mr. Lupin!"

Remus gave the young man a wan smile. Life couldn't be easy for Ron now that his wand arm was gone and his best friend was in the long-term spell damage ward of St. Mungo's with a poor prognosis. "How are you?"

"Alright. Late, as usual. Will you be around in a few hours? I've somewhere to be."

"Probably not. It was nice to see you all the same." Pleasantries were an easy thing to fall into, comforting and ritualistic.

"You too. G'bye. Bye, Mum."

"Have a good day," Molly replied absently, setting the dish aside. "Have you eaten, Remus? I've got extra shepherd's pie if you'd like, and it's probably still warm."

He wasn't hungry at all, but he was loath to pass up Molly's cooking. "I'll take just a spot, please."

"Ron's tutor is working out marvelously," Molly enthused as she rummaged in the fridge. "She's a miracle worker. He's managed some simple charms already, although he must remember to concentrate." A hefty portion of food landed in front of Remus. "Hopefully he'll get along properly without his wand arm one day. His attitude turned around on New Year's or so. He became much more positive, but he still doesn't want to go visit Harry."

Remus paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "How is Harry?"

"No change," Molly said, her grin settling out into a more somber line. "Maybe fewer visitors are best for him. He gets very agitated since he doesn't remember anyone, and he associates visitors with magic, which makes things worse."

His fork remained in limbo, forgotten. "So you're going to stop seeing him?"

Molly's nostrils flared. "Of course not," she said, puffing up like a mother hen. "He needs to know people care, after all. We're all the family he has."

Family. Remus' throat tensed up. "Molly."

"You can come too, if you like," she offered, looking a bit chagrined at not having remembered him earlier.

"Something's happened." He waited until he was sure he had her attention. "It's Nymphadora. She didn't come home last night and no one knows where she is. I've just come from Ted and Andromeda's," he continued over Molly's soft gasp. "Letting them know their daughter is missing, since they're next of kin and can get the ball rolling faster. It was such a hard thing to do. Ted was beside himself with worry, and Andromeda...well, it looked like she was trying mightily not to blame me outright. She's never thought me good enough for Dora, I always knew that, but she can't ever say much without looking like a royal hypocrite, can she? But she'd be right this time. If it wasn't for that bloody full moon, I would've noticed her missing hours before I did."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Molly insisted, looking stricken. "It's not your fault you're a werewolf. Remus, I'm so sorry to hear this. Are there any clues as to what happened?"

"Not that I know. I'll have to go back home to check, I suppose."

"If there's anything we can do, let us know at once. There's always someone here."

"Of course, Molly," Remus demurred, pushing his uneaten plate of food away.

"You're leaving?" she asked. He nodded. "I'll just wrap this up for you, then."

"Oh, that's really not-"

"You can have it for supper. You'll need your strength." She turned to the counter and began scooping the shepherd's pie into a travel container. "It's like a whole new war some days, isn't it? Ron's bad days, seeing George without Fred all the time – I knew they were always together, but I never realised how odd it is to see him on his own until now – and now Tonks missing without a trace. I just...there's so little good news yet. You'll let us know when she comes back or you get word?"

"Of course."

"The war might be over, but we're still ready to fight if need be."

* * *

There was no news waiting for him when he got home, and none followed subsequently. Over the next month, Remus began to die. There was no other word for it. He stopped eating properly almost immediately; weekly meals with the Weasleys provided most of his nutrition. Dora's disappearance was finally made public, a full week after the fact, but this brought nothing. Remus knew that money was growing short, but felt no inspiration to engage in the soul-crushing process that was job-searching as a known werewolf. He took so little notice of passing time that the next full moon nearly surprised him. 

In other words, it was 1981 all over again.

This transformation seemed more brutal than ever. He fought against his enclosure more desperately, exhausted himself more thoroughly, and woke to more lacerations. This time, there was no roast beef waiting for him when he woke. Even if he'd had the inclination to cook the day before, he probably would've stuck to a stew or a cheaper cut of beef. He contented himself with a slab of chocolate and a past-due Blood Replenishing Potion from the first aid kit. He wrapped his bedspread around himself – it didn't even smell like her anymore, but she'd picked it out – and curled up in the recliner with a novel and a mug of hot cocoa. He hadn't truly expected to read, and the book turned out to be an effective tranquilizer. He dozed most of the day, waking to make a meal of crackers and cheese and to refresh his cocoa. The day was dreary, full of flurries, and he didn't even notice that daylight was waning as he slipped away again.

It wasn't until he heard Dora's voice that he realised he had died. He hadn't had to come to terms with the fact that Dora had probably died; the uncertainty of her fate was the blessing and agony of a disappearance. Now, however, he was sure what had happened and was grateful for that closure, and beyond grateful that she had come for him.

"Remus, I'm home! Remus? Are you-" _Crash_. "Bollocks! That hurt!"

Remus was jolted out of his stupor. Surely there were no accidents in heaven, but he could hardly dare to believe... "Dora?" he cried, his voice hoarse from under-use.

There were additional clattering noises from the entryway. "I knocked the coat rack over. I don't even know how."

"Dora!" Remus stumbled out of the recliner, tripping over his blanket in his haste. She didn't _sound_ hurt, but he snatched up his wand, which he'd been using to periodically re-heat his cocoa, from the end table. His heart was about to burst out of his chest as he rounded the corner and she came into view, intact down to her fingers, not even a ridiculous pink hair on her head harmed. She was smiling at him, beckoning, and he hurtled towards her, knowing that he should be enraged at her casual appearance but acknowledging at the same time that it could wait until she was safe in his arms, undeniably _with_ him….

He was only two paces away when he caught wind of her. _Wrong_, his mind insisted. Her smell was utterly wrong. His joyful grin was still on his face; it was too dangerous to let it slip now, although the person masquerading as Dora seemed to sense that something had changed. In a fluid motion that hopefully wouldn't betray his intentions, Remus brought up his wand with a single word in his mind.

_Stupefy_.


	3. The Loving Enemy

**Chapter Three: The Loving Enemy**

The Stunning Spell hit the imposter Dora from point-blank range and propelled him or her backwards into the door with a resounding thud. Remus breathed heavily through his mouth, his short burst of adrenaline leaving him trembling. He checked his surroundings to ensure that the infiltrator had no backup. Once he was satisfied that no one else was in the vicinity, he-

"That really hurt, Remus." He looked down and, to his disbelief, his captive was rubbing Dora's pink head drowsily with a sullen expression directed at him. "You, of all people, should know that this isn't a day for rough-housing."

The Stunning Spell had failed. The improbability of the situation shocked Remus into breathing through his nose again, and he caught the imposter's scent once more. The first whiff had registered alarm in Remus' conscious mind, but now he was feeling more underlying emotions – fear and a bit of revulsion, both tellingly familiar. He was in the presence of a werewolf that still smelled faintly of Dora, and of Fenrir Greyback. Well, at least he knew how to find her, and who was responsible for her disappearance. "Who are you?" he demanded, brandishing his wand despite its reduced utility.

His quarry was braced against the door, ready to stand. She gave him an annoyed look and, impossibly, her hair briefly flashed violet.

Polyjuice couldn't mimic abilities. Remus' wand fell from his numb fingers. "Nympha_do_ra," he whispered, horrified.

She struggled to her feet sluggishly. "Don't call me that."

_Too old, too poor...too dangerous_. All of his self-loathing, so carefully tamped down in the last few years, flooded up into his mouth; it tasted like stale turnips. He should never have let her talk him into this relationship, and he shouldn't have deluded himself into thinking that she would be safe while he attempted to win werewolves to the Order's cause; all it had done was anger Greyback. All it had done was put her in danger and bring them to this point. "Did you...did he..." His eyes were beginning to sting. "I'm so sorry," he said lamely. "When did it happen? Perhaps we can take you to St. Mungo's if it hasn't been too long…."

She looked confused. "You didn't hit me that hard. I'm okay."

Remus' throat constricted. She didn't even _know_. "No, Dora, you're not. You need…oh, love, you've been bitten by a werewolf!" he cried.

"I _am _a werewolf," she said matter-of-factly, rotating her wrist and checking for damage.

He could almost feel the grain of floorboards underneath his chin. Maybe she was trying not to show any self-revulsion because it reflected on him in turn. Her eyes held no telltale signs of profound emotional denial; she seemed to truly know and accept what she'd become. He, on the other hand, wasn't about to be so sanguine. The transformations, the prejudice...how could she be okay with this, knowing so intimately what a werewolf went through? What were they going to do now that they were both outcasts? It seemed that Dora didn't need his concern at the moment, so he turned his thought to Greyback and vowed, not for the first time, to kill the monster that had created them and desecrate his corpse. "What did Greyback do to you?" he asked, determined to commit every word she said to memory.

"What did he do?" she echoed laconically. Her eyes gleamed with intensity. "He perfected me." Remus couldn't decide if he was in the beginning stages of a heart attack or if his heart merely ached from being clasped by horror. "I'm a Metamorphagus werewolf. Do you have any idea how _rare_ that is?"

Heart attack, probably. "You _asked _for this? You always did enjoy being the most unique snowflake, didn't you?" he ground out against the pain.

"And you've always enjoyed being the tortured soul," she shot back. "Wallowing in misery, acting like you're cursed – it's pathetic. You're just stubborn. Fenrir showed me that, but you've never given him a chance. I'm already a better werewolf than you are. How does that feel?"

"Dora, you're talking nonsense. How could you _do _something like this?"

"I never would've asked for it, watching you go on and on about your terrible life. Without Fenrir's intervention, I would never have reached my full potential."

"And by 'intervention', you mean that he kidnapped you and infected you. He's a monster."

"He sent me to help you!"

"Did he, now?" Remus asked sardonically, one eyebrow cocked.

"You don't know what it's like to run with the pack, do you? It's so freeing. That's why you tear yourself up during your transformations, you know – you're lonely. Things are better with the pack. Everyone belongs. Everyone is taken care of. There's no worrying that those speciest pigs around you are going to throw you in Azkaban or fire you from your job."

He slowly began to understand what was going on. She'd been isolated for the last month and brainwashed, and desperately needed an intervention. He recognised her very fragile mental state, but was infuriated at the same time. "Well, I suppose the two of us can run together now," he said quietly. _In the back room_, he amended silently; it was too dangerous to muck around outdoors.

Dora smiled radiantly. "Oh, Remus, he'll be so pleased!"

"'He'? Greyback wants me dead, make no mistake. I'm not going anywhere near him." _I'll kill him for what he's done to you._

"What utter rubbish. If he wanted you dead, he would've killed you months ago. Besides, Fenrir would never kill one of his own."

"Don't _ever_ lump me in with him," Remus growled. _He took you away from me._

Her face was devoid of expression now. "We're all the same now, whether you like it or not. There's another war brewing, Remus, and this time the Ministry's flat-out against us. You can hide away like you always do, but I'm going to fight for my right to exist in society."

"Fine words for someone who hasn't yet faced a single consequence for being this way." Andromeda and Ted were going to be crushed...and probably blame him.

"I found a way to help you, and all you can do is tell me what a foolish little girl I am. So, fine. Stay here in this little shack all by yourself. Pretend I'm worthless now, since that's obviously what you think."

"I never-"

"Keep pretending that the people around you are your friends, that they'll choose you when they have to pick a side, that you're somehow being true to yourself while denying your heritage. I just hope you wake up before it's too late."

Remus couldn't stand it, her untested self-righteousness and the way she flung his darkest speculations and most secret fears out in plain daylight just to mock him. He closed his eyes in a vain effort to keep his tears at bay. When he opened them again, she was gone.


	4. Run, Rabbit

**Chapter Four: Run, Rabbit**

Mercifully, Remus slept easy that night. It wasn't until the middle of the next day that he broke down. Once he got some emotion out of his system, he could begin to analyse the situation.

Dora – Tonks – was a werewolf. He didn't know where she was. She seemed loyal to Greyback.

Remus had read a lot about werewolves over the years, and he'd never felt that any of the basic tenets of werewolf psychology applied to him. Most scholarly works focused on canonical werewolves who were bitten and kidnapped in quick succession, which allowed the nascent creatures to be 'raised' in the context of the pack. Remus was a rarer case as his abduction hadn't been accomplished. He knew that he wasn't a completely unique case; other incognito 'lone wolves' had to have existed throughout time, but unsurprisingly, they hadn't lent themselves to analysis.

That wasn't important, though. What was important was that Tonks (how could he bear it?) fit all of the scholarly models perfectly. Altered personality. Loyalty to her alpha over pre-existing connections. A new moral code. Remus bit his lip. Had he ever read about a deprogramming that could divorce a werewolf from their alpha's influence? It sounded familiar, but he couldn't imagine a wizard being brave enough to attempt it. There had to be something he could do to render her as autonomous as he was. He decided to start his research tomorrow, as simply thinking about reading in his current state made his eyes cross.

The next morning, however, Remus realised that he had more pressing details to worry about than what books he would require. He needed to decide whether or not he was going to tell anyone about Tonk's (he could die from it) transformation. She obviously hadn't gone to her parents; he would have received the first Howlers already. Honestly, he couldn't think of anyone who _wouldn't _have come running to him if she had contacted them. If he was going to share the news with anyone it had to be soon, before the secret became a sin of omission. He couldn't bring himself to go back to Andromeda and Ted, not again, but they had a right to know. He would need to get someone else to convey the information.

He thought immediately of Estella Dearborne, but he couldn't inflict that on her. Besides, as an Auror, there was always the chance that one of the Ministry's ridiculous edicts against werewolves would put her at a conflict of interest. Molly Weasley, perhaps, but she probably wouldn't be as calm as he could hope. Arthur was too close to Molly, and still a Ministry employee. He finally settled on Bill Weasley and thought of last Christmas with Dora...no good. He remembered Albus offering him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. "_Expecto patronum!_"

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Remus waited most uncomfortably at a table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, hoping that Bill would show up sooner rather than later. He'd forgotten that it was Valentine's Day, and he was forced to watch the transit of couples through the pub on their way into and out of Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron itself was buzzing with people, and Remus tried to keep his attention trained on the patrons as opposed to the passers-by. Two ancient wizards were having a rollicking good time over a bottle of elven wine, and a group of well-heeled young witches seemed to be getting an early start at a girls' night out. One man at the bar with a pint of Butterbeer looked so much like a young Sirius that it was disconcerting. He was even _dressed_ in the same style Sirius had favoured, a cloak over a long coat and an open shirt to convey the incongruous combination of impeccable taste and uncaring rakishness that only he had been able to pull off.

The sight made Remus' heart contract anew. He had grieved for all three of his best friends for a long time after that fateful night in 1981, but he had struggled most with the fate of the traitor of the group, Sirius Black. It had been excruciating to know that his last surviving friend was the reason his other friends were dead. Then, nearly twelve years later, when he had seen Sirius and Peter together on the Marauder's Map... The euphoria of realising that one of his lost friends was alive, coupled with the subsequent guilt of realising that he had abandoned his true friend when he'd most needed aid, had been overwhelming. Having Sirius back after all that time had been like a waking dream, despite how much they had both changed. They had never been closer than during that one scant year at Twelve Grimmauld Place. The long nights, the admissions in the early morning hours, the feel of Sirius' emaciated body under his hands...

The Sirius-alike was on the move now, and Remus watched with a melancholy sort of hunger as he sauntered nearer and queued for the Floo, oblivious of the tattered-looking, middle-aged fool in the corner. Remus contemplated whether he should order another pint or jump straight to the Firewhiskey, then cursed his tight budget and decided maybe he'd leave it at that and switch over to water. As he rose to his feet, the Sirius-alike tossed Floo powder into the fire and stepped in. "Hogsmeade!" he cried, and he even _sounded_ reasonably like Sirius. Then, in the instant before the man was whisked away by the network, he locked eyes with Remus and flashed him a devastating, mischievous grin.

All of Remus' senses instantly went on high alert. He recognized that smile. There was no mistaking it. He'd seen it time and time again, and he'd know it anywhere.

Hell, he'd _had _to learn it anywhere – to recognize it on any face.

Nymphadora Tonks vanished into the green flames.

Remus' corner table upended as he shot to his feet. He darted forward and shoved aside a man who had queued up behind Tonks, kicking the jar of Floo powder into the fireplace as it fell. As he skidded into the flames, he screamed, "Diagon Alley!" His mind was whirling nearly as fast as his body was. Tonks was free from Greyback; he couldn't let her escape back to him. He emerged into the Hogsmeade post office just in time to see Tonks' cloak disappear around the doorway. He pelted after her, keenly aware of how much younger and faster she was. He shot a Blasting Curse at her, hoping to throw her off her feet, but he fell short and she continued unimpeded. The street was nearly empty, but Hogwarts students and village denizens were milling around obliviously a block away. Tonks was headed straight towards them. He wouldn't be able to say later whether it was purely selfish motives or altruistic concern, but at that moment, he did something he'd sworn to himself he would never, ever do. "WEREWOLF!" he bellowed, casting a last, desperate Blasting Curse at her.

People screamed and scattered as Tonks exploded into their midst. A few individuals took defensive postures, but before anyone truly realised what was happening, she had a wand pressed to a young girl's throat and was using her charge as a shield. Remus slid to a stop a few metres away, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Don't," he warned her. "Please don't." His wand hand itched; he longed to cast anti-Apparition wards, but he didn't want to endanger the hostage. He had to stop her from doing anything criminal.

Sirius' face smirked back at him. "Magical beings unite!" she shouted in her imitation of Sirius' voice. Remus had to wonder if she had chosen her disguise deliberately. "We can thrive together! End the persecution!" Then Tonks' face elongated and grew fur. She looked to the sky and howled in a completely inhuman way, her head completely lupine. Remus was paralysed with shock as Tonks yanked her hostage's hand upwards and nipped daintily at the girl's palm. _No. Anything but that. _As the girl shrieked and fainted, Remus lunged forward, tossing off a Sticking Charm. He saw Tonks lurch a bit and then he had a hold on the girl's arm, dragging her form past him while bringing himself closer to Tonks. Her eyes widened as he snatched at her, but he found himself grasping at air. She had Disapparated.

The girl was sprawled on the ground, her long, dark hair mixing in the dirty snow. Her leg was twisted awkwardly as her foot was still affixed firmly to the street by Remus' spell. He would see Tonks again. He had to believe he would see Tonks again. The important thing was that he'd saved a victim from Greyback. In the deathly silence, Remus reversed the charm and gathered the girl into his arms before sending a Patronus towards Hogwarts.


	5. The Pup

**Chapter Five: The Pup**

He could believe that she was sleeping. The girl was very still in the bed and arranged comfortably, but her breathing was so shallow. Remus sat nearby and willed her to awaken. What had Tonks done? _I'm a Metamorphagus werewolf. Do you have any idea how _rare_ that is? _Had it been a true transformation or a show, and if it had been real, what would happen to the girl? He was positively itchy with anxiety. The only person Remus knew who had been bitten by a werewolf outside of a full moon was Bill Weasley, and he...oh, bollocks. Bill was waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Violet?" An older student with short, dark hair and fashionable robes stood uncertainly in the doorway.

Minerva McGonagall stood behind the girl. "I will go await your parents, Miss Parkinson. They shall be arriving presently."

"Okay," Miss Parkinson whispered, shuffling hesitantly towards the bed. "Violet?" she said again. "Can you hear me?" She blinked at Remus. "Lupin, what's happened to her?"

Remus was startled by the fact that the girl knew who he was. "I taught you," he realised. He couldn't remember her name.

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. Now tell me what's happened to my sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"Why would you? Now, _what happened_?"

"I really think we should wait for your parents to-"

"Look, you mangy werewolf, I don't really care what you think," Parkinson snapped. "Unless you want to lose something precious to you, I suggest you start talking."

He was about to quip bitterly that he didn't have anything precious left to lose when he was saved from getting into a row by the arrival of the girls' parents. The woman, petite and pale-skinned like her daughters, let out a gasp and flew to Violet's form; her husband followed and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Mr. Parkinson, Mrs. Parkinson, this is Remus Lupin – he's the one who brought Violet here," Minerva said.

Remus nodded to the couple. "I wish we had met under more pleasant circumstances," he murmured. Mr. Parkinson looked at him sharply.

"Is she going to be alright?" Mrs. Parkinson asked.

Minerva looked to Remus. "Her condition is uncertain right now," he answered lamely.

"Is she – well, this is just ridiculous," Mrs. Parkinson decided. "I'll just ask her." She leaned over her unconscious daughter. "Violet, wake up!" she barked, slapping the girl's cheeks vigorously.

Minerva paled. "Mrs. Parkinson, I don't think..." She trailed off as the girl began to stir and moan.

"Will there be any lasting damage?" Mr. Parkinson asked. "What happened, exactly? Has the other student been punished?" He turned to his wife, who was still agitating Violet. "Iris, please. It isn't working."

Mrs. Parkinson sniffed defiantly, but ceased her ministrations.

Remus exchanged a look with Minerva. "It may be best if Miss Parkinson remains asleep for the moment," Minerva said carefully. "We have grave matters to discuss before she awakes."

This caught the Parkinsons' collective attention. "Finally!" Miss Parkinson huffed.

Remus focused his attention on Mr. Parkinson, whom he took to be the most stable member of the family, and took a deep breath. He had to speak very carefully to make sure that he didn't implicate Tonks in the attack. "Violet was attacked by a partially-transformed werewolf," he said as calmly as he could.

Miss Parkinson gasped louder than her parents. "You _attacked_ her, Lupin?" she shrieked.

"What? No!" he stammered as the elder Parkinsons rounded on him sharply.

"He's the werewolf that taught me in third year!" she cried.

"I tried to stop it," he said.

"You're a _werewolf_?" Mrs. Parkinson whispered.

"What do you mean when you say 'attacked'?" Mr. Parkinson asked on the heels of his wife's question, a stony look on his face.

Remus cleared his throat. "I smelled a werewolf I'd never seen before at the Leaky Cauldron and saw him..." A small shock went through him as he realised he'd almost said 'her'. "He left to Hogsmeade by Floo, and I decided to follow and find out whether he was friend or foe. He ran and I gave chase, and he headed straight into a group of students. He took your daughter hostage, and I tried to talk him into releasing her. I didn't want to engage her – Violet, I mean," he stammered awkwardly, realising he'd made a mistake, "in any combat between us. I wanted to make sure she wasn't hurt." Mr. Parkinson had so far remained immobile throughout the story, but Mrs. Parkinson looked appropriately awed and Miss Parkinson already had tears running down her face. "The werewolf was a terrorist," he said bluntly. "I didn't know. She – she didn't struggle," he added unnecessarily, nearly blowing Tonks' cover again. "The werewolf – I've never seen this before – the werewolf transformed, just the head, and bit her with his wolf's head."

"No!" Mrs. Parkinson cried.

Remus kept his attention trained on Mr. Parkinson, who hadn't reacted at all. "Are you meaning to say," the man began quietly, his face beginning to mottle with rage, "that my daughter was BITTEN BY A WEREWOLF ON A SCHOOL TRIP?" He rounded on Minerva, who remained valiantly nonconfrontational. "I'll have your head on a plate, McGonagall! The board of directors is going to hear about this!"

"Mr. Parkinson," Remus began.

"This doesn't concern you, werewolf!" Mr. Parkinson snapped.

At this, Mrs. Parkinson let out an anguished wail. "Violet's a werewolf too!" Mrs. Parkinson and Miss Parkinson fell into each other's arms, sobbing desperately.

"We don't know that," Remus broke in as he saw Mr. Parkinson drawing in breath for a fresh assault. "Violet was bitten by a partially-transformed werewolf. Bill Weasley was bitten by Fenrir Greyback almost a year ago when he was partially transformed," he figured this wasn't an outright lie as Fenrir was always partially transformed these days, "and he's never transformed."

"So she'll be alright, then?" Mr. Parkinson growled.

"We don't know," Remus admitted. "Like I said, I've never seen a werewolf transform like this – other than Greyback," he added hastily, eager now to throw them off of Tonks' trail. "It seems like Greyback has been teaching his pack new tricks."

"Aren't you one of his pack?" Mr. Parkinson asked suspiciously.

Remus drew himself up to his full height. "Never. And if Violet does become a werewolf, she won't join him either," he vowed. He wouldn't allow Tonks' mistake to compound.

"How do we know if she's...?" asked Mrs. Parkinson, who had managed to stem her tears somewhat.

He gave her a pitying look. "We have to wait until the next full moon to know for sure."

The Parkinsons regarded Violet, who lay unmoving on the bed, the white pillow accenting her deathly pallor. Remus wanted to join them as they closed ranks around her and began murmuring, but he knew he was unwelcome. Instead, he inched closer to Minerva. "Tell them I am at their disposal and encourage them to contact me." Minerva nodded. "I must go."

She looked at him questioningly but nodded again. "Aurors will contact you about the attack, I'm sure," she whispered back.

"I'll try to contact them first." It was going to be difficult to lie to Estella's face, but it was better to deal with someone who was sympathetic to him. "I need an owl."

Minerva nodded again, confirming with a wave of her hand that he was free to use the school owlery.

He exited the ward and immediately encountered Hermione Granger loitering in the hallway. "Professor Lupin! Is Professor McGonagall still inside? Madam Pomfrey told me I couldn't enter."

"She is," he replied, "and she will be indisposed for a while yet. It would be best to meet with her another time." They nodded at each other and a thought struck him. "How are you, Hermione?" he asked, hoping to look offhand about it. "Classes going okay?"

"They're going fine."

"Potions easier now that you have Slughorn?" he continued, a small smile on his face. The old blowhard had outright refused to attempt to brew Wolfsbane Potion for him, citing werewolves' current reputation in wizarding society as something he couldn't be associated with. It seemed that he was doing his best to distance himself from anything remotely controversial.

She grinned impishly. "Potions itself isn't easier, but getting an O certainly is. I guess I'll know for sure at the NEWT, won't I?"

Remus kicked himself mentally. The girl was still in school and under enough pressure as it was; he couldn't possibly ask her to try her hand at Wolfsbane. He knew how single-mindedly she could throw herself into her pursuits and he certainly didn't want to interfere with her studies.

"I heard about Tonks," Hermione said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Remus bowed his head. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You haven't had any leads?"

"None. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I must dash. Take care, okay?"

"You too," she replied, her eyes full of sympathy.

* * *

_Dear Bill,_

_I am terribly sorry that I missed our meeting earlier; please accept my most sincere apologies for taking up your time and know that I appreciated your willingness to meet me. I have been able to resolve the issue myself and will no longer require your assistance._

_Thank you for everything._

_RJL_

He was at an utter loss. He couldn't reveal Tonks as a werewolf to anyone now without leaving her to be associated with the attack on Violet Parkinson – who but a Metamophagus werewolf would feasibly be able to partially transform at will? He had to lead everyone to believe that Greyback's werewolves were gaining abilities (which was partially true, he reflected). She left him no choice.

He still couldn't believe the afternoon's events. Attacking an innocent child! How monstrous! How vile! How would she be able to live with herself, knowing what she'd done? Greyback had turned her into a monster, and for the first time, he worried that what had been done couldn't be undone.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to thank my _very special airline_ for making me sit at the airport for six hours today while they delayed my flight, replaced my flight, cancelled my flight, and then tried to re-book my flight before sending me home and telling me to try again tomorrow. Without them, I wouldn't have had the time to write this chapter today. Mad props to my little laptop for refusing the airport's WiFi so I had no distractions.


	6. A Very Merry Unbirthday

**Chapter Six: A Very Merry Unbirthday**

_Mr. Lupin:_

_We request the honour of your presence at your earliest convenience._

_Yours &c,_

_Randolph Parkinson_

Remus had been expecting the owl – he'd received a letter from Minerva the day before – but his pulse began to race nonetheless when he read the signature on the parchment. It had been two weeks since Violet Parkinson had been bitten by Tonks. The full moon was approaching rapidly, and he found his spare moments consumed with speculation over what fate would befall the young Miss Parkinson. She had become a sort of symbol to Remus; if Violet turned out to be alright, maybe that meant Tonks would turn out alright, too, and this whole situation would still be salvageable. On the other hand, the thought of Violet being a werewolf, a werewolf he saved from Greyback, gave him a secret thrill that had been entirely absent when he'd found out what had happened to Tonks.

* * *

"Tea?" Iris Parkinson asked as she ushered Remus to an overstuffed chesterfield in the Parkinsons' cozy living room.

"Please," he answered, sinking into the cushions. He struggled not to sink into a prostrate position and ended up leaning forwards, his elbows on his knees. "It's good to see you again," he said to Randolph, who was seated imperially in an armchair. The man barely inclined his head, but the movement was enough to draw attention to the gleam of his distinguished grey temples.

"You have a lovely home," he said to Mrs. Parkinson when she returned with a steaming cup. He had been impressed with the stately Tudor-style home and its sprawling gardens.

"Thank you," she simpered, setting the saucer on the coffee table in front of him. "I'll go fetch Violet."

Alone with Mr. Parkinson once again, Remus cleared his throat conspicuously. The other man seemed to take this as a sign of aggression and gave him a sharp look, but said nothing. His silence was beginning to unnerve Remus, but he wasn't sure how to broach any relevant topics without potentially aggravating his host. He reached out for his tea but found the cup to be too hot to handle and left it alone.

It was a relief to see Violet again, even if she didn't seem to notice anyone else in the room. She seemed pale and weedy-looking, but as he hadn't known her previous to her attack, he couldn't say if she'd been suffering physically or if she was simply naturally fair-skinned and going through an adolescent growth spurt. The girl perched on the loveseat while Mrs. Parkinson disappeared back towards the kitchen.

"Hello, Miss Parkinson," Remus murmured. Her eyes flickered up to his face and down towards the carpet again. Mr. Parkinson took a sip of tea, and the clink of china was the only sound in the room.

Mrs. Parkinson returned with a cup and saucer balanced in each hand and a small platter of biscuits floating behind her. She gave one saucer to Violet and settled the platter on the coffee table with a flick of her wand before taking her seat next to her daughter.

The Parkinsons exchanged glances and Remus was struck by the amount of uncertainty he saw pass between them. It reminded him that no matter how uncomfortable he felt at the moment, he was the expert in the room and the Parkinsons were asking for his counsel.

"Mr. Lupin," Mr. Parkinson said finally, "thank you for coming. The full moon is next week."

"Violet, maybe you would like some tea instead?" Mrs. Parkinson interrupted as her daughter's hand snaked out towards the biscuits.

"I don't _like_ tea, Mother," Violet muttered through gritted teeth. "Even if I did, the urn keeps it much too hot." Defiantly, she took a bite out of a biscuit and set it down on her saucer under Mrs. Parkinson's disapproving glare.

"Violet, you're not at school," Remus said gently.

The girl scowled at her teacup. "I was kicked out."

"Now, you weren't kicked out," Mrs. Parkinson said sharply. "She's just been sent home until this whole matter has been resolved."

"You graduated from Hogwarts, didn't you?" Violet asked Remus. "Even though you were a werewolf?"

"Yes."

"So I could go back even if I don't turn out to be fine?"

"...I don't know. It was a different time back then." _Dumbledore _would've had the solution, but he seemed to have taken all elegant solutions with him. "What's important is to prepare for the worst now. You have to have somewhere secure to go during the full moon."

"Where do you go?" she asked.

"There's a back room in my cottage," Remus explained. "It's reinforced with a complicated lock that a werewolf can't open. You'll require something similar, and quickly. I can help you design it." It would be a welcome distraction from his research on werewolf psychology.

Mr. Parkinson nodded deferentially.

"What happens?" Violet blurted. "During the full moon, I mean? Does it hurt?"

"It's excruciating at the time," Remus said bluntly. "You can feel your limbs changing shape and your organs shifting." Violet shuddered, and he felt suddenly abashed, but he knew it was essential for her to know such things. "I suppose it's a bit nauseating if one thinks about it, but the pain is gone once the transformation is complete." He took a hearty drink of tea to allow her time to process the information. Once the queasy look on her face eased, he continued. "The worst part comes after the transformation. All you want to do is escape, to run free, and you can't. It's agonizing. I tear myself to shreds every month. Things were better a few years ago. Professor Snape used to brew Wolfsbane Potion for me. Did Pansy ever tell you about that?" He wasn't sure how much gossip had made its way through the student body at the time. Violet shook her head.

Remus cleared his throat to dislodge whatever was making the back of his throat tickle, hoping that Mr. Parkinson wouldn't take it as a sign of aggression this time. "The Wolfsbane helped immensely. I transformed, but I kept my wits about me. I didn't feel that overwhelming need to run, to escape. I could just curl up, knowing I was a wolf and that I would be myself come sunrise. Without the Wolfsbane, though, I'm a different creature altogether. I-" Remus coughed. The scratchy feeling in his throat remained. In fact, it had been getting steadily worse and now it felt like his entire oesophagus was prickling. He huffed experimentally, but nothing happened. If anything, his throat had simply refused to move at all. Suddenly suspecting the problem, he pointed his wand at himself. Brown liquid and the remnants of his lunch spewed forth from his mouth and splattered squarely onto the coffee table.

"Dreadfully sorry," he gasped. Mrs. Parkinson was frozen in place, gaping at him in unmitigated disgust. He Vanished the mess with a brisk wave of his wand. His throat felt worse. "Is your tea urn made of silver, by any chance?"

A twitch of Mrs. Parkinson's eye was the only sign that his question may have registered with her. "Mum, how _could_ you?" Violet burst out. "You've killed him! You could've killed me!"

"I'm not dying," said Remus, thumping his chest with his fist.

"Are you sure?" Violet pressed.

"Is there anything we can do?" Mr. Parkinson rumbled.

"I'm quite alright, although I could use some water," Remus replied. This seemed to shock Mrs. Parkinson into action and she scuttled off towards the kitchen. "I really am fine," he assured Violet, who still looked worried. "Here, I'll show you. That spoon in the sugar bowl looks like silver; may I have it?"

Violet's hand wavered over the utensil. Finally, she grasped it and shook the stray grains of sugar from it. She pointed it towards him hesitantly. "Are you sure about this?" When Remus nodded, she held out her arm, but before he could take the spoon, it slipped from her hand and tumbled onto the Turkish rug. "Sorry," she muttered, frowning. "Clumsy of me..."

"I'll get it," Remus said quickly, scooping it up. "Does your hand feel numb, by any chance?"

Violet flexed her fingers, still frowning. "I don't know."

"It might be best to stay away from silver for the next week," he informed her gently. Father and daughter exchanged wide-eyed glances. Remus' fingertips tingled in a familiar way and he set the spoon on the coffee table.

"Here's your water," Mrs. Parkinson announced, delivering a tall glass to Remus. "I'm so sorry about the tea." She retreated quickly to her seat.

No one spoke for a few moments. Remus took a long drink of water in the silence, and it did much to calm his scorched throat.

"Mr. Lupin, would you stay with me that night?" Violet asked suddenly.

The vulnerable look on the girl's face arrested him. "I can't. I- surely, you must know that," he stammered. "Miss Parkinson, if you haven't become a werewolf and I'm in the same-"

"Oh, come off it!" she burst out. "Everyone thinks I am, or I'd still be at school!"

"_Violet_," Mr. Parkinson said warningly.

She turned on him. "You and Mum treat me like I'm made of glass! I've seen the way you look at me, the false cheeriness! I just dropped a silver spoon! I'm a werewolf!"

The elder Parkinsons looked to Remus helplessly. "That's nonsense, Violet," he said more sternly than he'd intended. "Having people worry about you and dropping a spoon does not make you a werewolf. Bill Weasley craves very rare meat-"

"So do I," Violet admitted miserably.

"He's not a werewolf. He simply took on some mild werewolf traits. Maybe you have, too. It would be utterly irresponsible for me to lock myself up with you. If you're not a werewolf, you certainly would be by the end of the night."

"I just don't want to be alone," Violet whispered, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest. "I'm so scared."

Remus mentally cursed Tonks.


	7. Whose?

**Chapter Seven: Whose?**

Remus blinked sleepily. He'd been having a lovely dream. It had been a stormy night, but the sky had been full of swirling colour over a grassy glen, and-

He remembered where he was, stiffened, and sprang to his feet, heart pounding. The new wood floor was rough under his feet, and his muscles protested at the sudden movement. He bounded to the door, nearly losing his balance in the process, and fumbled with the elaborate locking mechanism until the bolt finally slid back. In the small antechamber outside, he snatched up robes and pulled them on. Nearly as an afterthought, he patted his pocket for his wand. He scarcely had all his buttons fastened before he burst out of the antechamber and whirled around to a door beside the one he had just come from. The second door led to a nearly-identical antechamber, which in turn led to a twin holding chamber. "Violet!" he cried hoarsely.

Mr. Parkinson was in the room in an instant, clad in a rumpled dressing gown. It was obvious that he hadn't slept. "Mr. Lupin! It's time, then?"

"I assume so. Certainly, it's safe now."

Mr. Parkinson elbowed Remus aside and took his place in front of the door, which irked Remus a bit, and knocked. "Violet? Are you awake?"

"Perhaps she's still asleep," Remus offered.

"She never sleeps late," Mrs. Parkinson informed him from the doorway. She was huddled in a dressing gown of her own, her tangled hair tumbling to her shoulders.

"It was her first transformation," Remus countered.

Mrs. Parkinson froze. "Do you think that she-"

"I saw her," Remus said baldly, unable to hold it in any longer. Saying the words aloud sent a small thrill through his body. He'd seen her, alright, and just the sight and smell of her had made the night like nothing he'd ever experienced. He'd had a point of focus for the first time since he'd had to do without Wolfsbane. He remembered the glimpse he had caught a minute ago of the wall separating his chamber from Violet's. It was covered in gouges. He hadn't been trying to attack, though, he knew that much. He remembered seeing the other wolf through the small, barred window. He'd been frustrated, but it was an entirely different drive than the usual desperation that consumed him on those nights. Maybe Tonks had been on to something when she'd pointed out the differences of life with a pack.

The Parkinsons had thrown open Violet's antechamber and were now pounding at the reinforced door that could only be opened from the inside. "Violet, get up!" Mrs. Parkinson cried. The girl's clothes and wand were still in a neat pile by the door. "Are you awake? Let us know so we can leave you to dress. Violet?"

"GO AWAY!" The muted scream seemed torn from a raw throat.

At this, Mrs. Parkinson redoubled her efforts on the door. "Open this door this instant! Don't make me Apparate in there, young lady!"

"Perhaps it would be best to let her alone for now," Remus suggested delicately. "She's had quite the shock-"

"Don't tell us how to raise our daughter," Mr. Parkinson snapped as Violet's garbled sobs emanated from behind the door.

"I'm just trying to help-"

"We don't need your help."

"Anymore, you mean," Remus added bitterly. "You were perfectly willing to let me design this chamber. Violet?" he called. "It's Remus. I want you to-"

"SHE'S NOT YOURS!" Mr. Parkinson bellowed, advancing menacingly on Remus.

It was all Remus could do not to snarl back at the man. The irrational part of him wanted to argue that the girl _was_ his now, for better or worse. Who else would understand what she was going through? Why should she have to rediscover everything he'd had to learn the hard way when he was young? Her parents would never be able to help her the way he could. "Fine," he said, hoping he didn't sound too snappish, although he couldn't keep the chill out of his voice. "Let her know I'm re-keying my Floo at Tonks Cottage for her if she has any questions or needs someone else to talk to. I'll take my leave now," he added when Mr. Parkinson's fierce expression didn't soften. "Good day. And make sure she eats some chocolate," he grumbled over his shoulder as he stalked away. He Disapparated as soon as he was clear of the house, still smarting from the suddenness of his rejection.

The first thing he noticed when he reappeared on his lawn was that the cottage door was open. A shot of adrenaline rushed up Remus' spine and radiated outwards to mix with his discontent. He listened carefully for anything amiss in the house and detected nothing with his heightened sense of hearing, so he made his way forward with his wand out. The door showed no signs of forced entry, but the living room was ransacked – furniture was overturned and swaths of books had been pulled from the shelves and strewn on the rug. He recognised his beloved, dog-eared copy of _Spellman's Syllabary_ in tatters near the doorway.

The kitchen was no better. Plates were smashed and there were papers littering the ground. Most striking, though, were the cabinets. The doors, which had been thrown open, were covered in scrolling scorch marks. Moving on, he found clothes all over the bedroom floor, and the bed itself looked like it had been jumped on. A quick check in the chiffonier revealed that Tonks' jewellery was gone. Remus sank onto the corner of the mattress, his hand to his forehead. Had there been anything else of value stolen? They didn't have much that was appealing to thieves. It was too much to catalogue all of their possessions at the moment; he'd been hungry and cantankerous before he'd arrived, and things hadn't improved since. Why today? All he wanted was to collapse on the bed for an hour. Now he'd have to call in the Aurors after he figured out what crimes had been committed. He decided that some chocolate would be just the thing to steel him for the endeavour of rearranging his home. Once he Banished the broken china (the pieces were too intermingled for him to attempt repair) and arranged the papers in a neat pile on the kitchen table, he sat down with a chocolate bar and lazily flicked his wand at the cabinet doors. The maple panels fell shut, exposing more than he'd realised. The scorching was actually script. The words had obviously been burnt into the wood.

_Where's my daughter?_ Tonks' bubbly, scrolling handwriting bore down on him and he simultaneously felt his stomach drop and his hackles raise as he immediately thought, _SHE'S NOT YOURS._

This nonsense had gone on long enough. He had to find Tonks before she put Violet in further danger or revealed herself to the wizarding world in her current state. The time for planning had passed.


	8. Something More Than Animals

**Chapter Eight: Something More Than Animals**

Remus pulled his long woolen scarf tighter as he stalked down Diagon Alley. He wasn't the type of person to stalk about normally, but these were extenuating circumstances and the jacket helped. It was a gift from Dora. She hadn't been able to afford dragonhide, so she'd opted for slightly distressed leather. "Please, Remus," she'd wheedled as he'd held it at arm's length uncertainly, "can't you try to wear something cool for once in your life?" He didn't feel _cool_ with it on, necessarily, but he did feel different once he'd put it on. More dangerous, perhaps.

A fierce wind was buffeting his face. Turning into Knockturn Alley helped somewhat, and he repositioned his scarf. At the height of Voldemort's power, the intersection of Knockturn and Diagon had been nowhere for a respectable wizard to be; just a year ago, Knockturn Alley had degenerated quickly as one got off the main thoroughfare. The current state of Knockturn Alley was astonishing to him. As soon as Voldemort was gone, a music label had set up shop firmly at Knockturn and Cleburne, claiming that the location suited dark, tortured auras of their artists. Within weeks, clubs and shops had sprung up around it, and the area was rapidly becoming a place for young miscreants to visit for cheap thrills and a feeling of misbehaving. Remus barely bit back a sigh as he saw a group of youths slouching down the crowded street, wearing gloves and short-sleeved tops under studded cloaks in order to show off the flame tattoos on their forearms. The tattoos were a semi-covert signal reflecting a disturbing new trend, a seemingly grassroots movement that had sprung up from Voldemort's grave in the fertile soil of Rufus Scrimgeour's United Peace Initiative. The bearers typically fancied themselves to be a cleansing fire that would solidify wizardkind's rightful place in the magical world by burning away society's abominations. Werewolves, vampires, and Veela were at the top of the list of impediments to a murky wizarding utopia. It was both a more creative and a truer interpretation of Scrimgeour's Assimilation of Magical Brethren Act. The flames weren't Dark Marks – no one was stupid enough to associate themselves with Death Eaters yet – but in Remus' mind they weren't far off, and they were even more insidious as they had the tacit approval of the population.

It was hard to take them seriously at the moment, as it seemed they were more interested in talking tough than taking action and the group seemed very loosely organised. Remus was sure he could take on the lot of them on the street together if he had to, but they were too busy posturing to notice the second most famous werewolf in Britain walk right by them.

As he continued to stride down the street, the bright colours and cacophony of music and shouting began to fade away. Here, the buildings were more dilapidated and seemed to exist only in various shades of brown and grey, and this colourless world was a place where even the bravado-filled musicians who insisted they were from Dark wizard stock feared to tread. As the opening of Knockturn Alley had mainstreamed, creatures had retreated. He turned onto Kilburn Hall and headed straight for a dingy sign proclaiming the location of the aptly-named Mucky Duck. A blast of hot, stale air greeted him when he entered the dank pub and he strode straight up to the bar, throwing off his scarf. "Firewhiskey," he said to Raphael, the grizzled old wizard behind the bar who was a known Friend to Werewolves according to the Ministry but who mysteriously remained uninvestigated, "and a pint of Havisham's, if you please." Raphael nodded, though his eyes were narrowed – the man could be more properly described as a Friend of Greyback's – and turned towards the collection of bottles behind the bar.

"Weeeell," wheezed someone behind him, "look what the dragon coughed up! As I live and breathe, it's Remus Lupin!"

Remus turned, feigning mild surprise. As if the man would be anywhere else on a Tuesday afternoon. "Simon. Good to see you again," he said insincerely. "And you, Rowan."

Simon Hawthorne licked the remains of his greasy pub food off his fingers. It was a hamburger, Remus noted. Rare. He wasn't much older than Remus, and Remus was aware that he hadn't aged gracefully himself over the years, but he was continually struck by the other man's slow decay. Simon's once-wiry frame had fallen to paunch around his midsection, and his hair was relegated to tufts at his crown. Sure, Remus' hair was turning greyer every day, but at least he wasn't _balding_. Well, okay, maybe things were receding a bit in the front.

Rowan McTavish was a young one, less than ten years out of Hogwarts but old enough that Remus hadn't taught him. Remus wouldn't have known him at all if not for his failed missionary work on Dumbledore's behalf. The lifestyle hadn't caught up with McTavish yet; he still looked clear-eyed and corn-fed, especially juxtaposed against Hawthorne's dull complexion. Remus wondered why the young werewolf couldn't seem to break into beta ranks in his pack, instead seeming firmly relegated to the omega ladder, consigned to hanging out with the likes of Hawthorne. It was likely because young McTavish wasn't very bright.

Stupidity was a trait Remus valued in his opponents.

"Firewhiskey," Raphael grunted, setting down a snifter. A pint glass followed. "Havisham's."

"Thank you," Remus said automatically. The two werewolves sniggered as he dug in his pocket for change.

"How d'ye drink that stuff?" McTavish called.

That was as close to an opening as he was going to get. Remus quaffed the Firewhiskey in one fell gulp – he was going to need it, and the warmth was an added bonus – and walked his gooseberry ale over to his adversaries' table. "It's an acquired taste, I suppose," he demurred, addressing McTavish while appraising Hawthorne. "He's let you out to play, has he?" he asked archly.

"Oh, we're _always_ out to play," Hawthorne returned smoothly. "You, on the other hand...I'm surprised you have the nerve to show your face here."

Remus supposed Hawthorne couldn't know that he was hoping to get reported to Greyback. He cocked an insolent brow at the omega and tilted back in his chair. "Me? It's not like I fell from Greyback's good graces by consorting with you."

"We got in a right smack of trouble when he found out we'd even been _listenin_' to you," McTavish snarled.

"Then why'd you listen in the first place?" he asked in a mildly mocking tone. "I guarantee that Greyback wants me here now."

Hawthorne looked suspicious. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah," McTavish said enthusiastically, "he's hoping the Redeemers get you."

"Is that what they're calling themselves now?" Remus asked. "Those foolish youngsters with the flame tattoos? I saw some out on the street today."

"They got Jordan Flint last week." Hawthorne said, a solemn expression on his face. McTavish, sensing that Hawthorne was immersed in a story, began nicking french fries from his plate. "Looking less foolish and more dangerous, by the looks of it."

"Is he...?"

"In custody. Turned out lucky, I guess. They stoned a Veela to death after that."

"What? I haven't read anything like that."

"Of course not. There's not enough public support for it...yet. And it's easy to hush up a foreigner's death. Just you wait, though. This sort of thing is going to keep on happening, and they're only getting bolder. You want my advice, Lupin? Watch your back and don't go anywhere alone, especially 'round Knockturn and Diagon. It ent safe. You're too visible."

Remus took a long pull of his Havisham's. "Does Greyback have any plan of action to lay these Redeemers low, other than surprise attacks at midday?"

McTavish looked startled. "Sod off, Lupin," he growled when he regained his composure.

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just because McTavish was illiterate didn't mean everyone else was; eyewitness accounts of Violet's attack had run in _The Quibbler_ less than twenty-four hours after the incident. "I'm just asking a question," Remus replied conversationally.

"We know where your 'just questions' get us."

McTavish was too defensive, too wary. Remus hadn't counted on him being so jumpy now that the war was over and Remus had no vested interest in the pack's affairs. Had he been warned to keep his mouth shut regarding certain dealings? "I'm not here to get you in any trouble."

"Then why _are _you here?" asked Hawthorne. "I doubt you craved our company."

"I told you, Greyback wants me here."

"I somehow doubt that," Hawthorne scoffed.

"Then why did he kidnap Nymphadora?" Remus challenged. He'd held McTavish in the corner of his eye as he spoke, and was now watching the younger werewolf's reaction to his statement closely. He hadn't registered anything beyond nonchalant surprise: no smugness, no sly glances, nothing to suggest he knew anything untoward.

Hawthorne smirked. "So she's up and left you, has she? Don't you think werewolves are blamed for enough these days without you adding your petty charges?"

"Where is she?" Remus growled.

"Look, I don't know what you're going on about. Besides," he added, "we don't kidnap. We kill."

Remus ignored Hawthorne's bravado and tried to lighten the mood. "Well, if you can't tell me where she is, I wouldn't mind an introduction to that bloke who can transform at will. That's quite the trick."

Hawthorne grinned smugly. "Liked that, did you? Everyone's running scared now."

"So, what was it? Obviously not a Polyjuicing gone bad, since he transformed back, and I don't think it was a glamour."

McTavish shot to his feet. "No more of your tricks, Lupin! Get out. You're not welcome here."

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Remus reclined casually in his seat. "So what did he do?"

"Get out!" McTavish repeated. Hawthorne assented with his silence.

"Fine. Just tell Greyback that I want Nymphadora back."

"We'll tell him nowt," McTavish said savagely, fully incensed by this point. "We're not your slaves. You too scared to tell him yourself?"

"McTavish, I'm not nearly as scared of Greyback as you are." Remus rose from his seat with a regretful glance at his half-finished pint and then looked over his companions – his opponents, but not necessarily his enemies. He possessed a measure of pity for them, McTavish especially. From what Remus understood, he was a Muggleborn who had turned his Hufflepuff loyalty to the only group who would offer him unconditional acceptance. Hawthorne had always been a bad seed, but not malevolent. "You two take care. I don't want to read about you in the _Prophet_."

"Likewise," Hawthorne replied. McTavish simply scowled. "Seriously, you'd do best to Apparate away from here if the Redeemers are out."

"I'm not scared of them," Remus scoffed.

"What do you care?" McTavish asked simultaneously.

Hawthorne gave McTavish a severe look. "Every victim makes them bolder. It's best for everyone to lay low."

Remus rolled his eyes. "That's what everyone said with Voldemort, too. I'd tell you to ask my friends how that turned out for them, but they're all dead." All the same, he Apparated away at Kilburn Hall rather than strolling back through Diagon Alley.

When he got back home he discovered Violet Parkinson in his armchair.


	9. Don't Call Me Daughter

**Chapter Nine: Don't Call Me Daughter**

"I've been waiting here forever," Violet complained.

Remus blinked at her. "I...dreadfully sorry, I must've missed your owl."

"What owl?"

Remus blinked again.

"I hope you don't mind," she said carelessly. "Mum and Dad were driving me spare. Nice jacket," she added.

"Of course that's fine. How are you doing?"

Violet shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I guess. Turns out my parents aren't bent on kicking me out of the house after all. I'd expected them to."

Remus nodded sympathetically. "It's a lot for them to take in, I'm sure."

"Well, they've decided they want me back to normal as soon as possible. Back to school and whatnot."

"They're letting you back to Hogwarts? That's wonder-"

"Oh, please. Of course I'm not allowed back there. But that's no reason my schooling should be suspended, is it?" she asked, the corners of her mouth curling sardonically. "Have you ever heard of the Kwikspell Advanced Correspondence Course series?"

"Kwikspell? Isn't that for...?"

"Squibs, yeah," Violet supplied bitterly. "It's really awful. Mum's teaching me Charms and helping out with Divination, but she's forgotten a lot of her Transfiguration and Dad doesn't have a lot of time to help me with much but Arithmancy, and he knows so much about it that he can't really explain the stuff I'm supposed to learn – he thinks I should know it already. It's so boring, too. I didn't realise how much worse it would be than real school."

Remus was more grateful than ever to Dumbledore. "I'm sorry."

"The school wouldn't even take me back if I had Wolfsbane Potion," she growled, her eyes darkening.

No, her eyes really _did_ darken – they went from a green-tinted hazel to a full brown. Violet was a Metamophagus too? Or Violet was a Metamorphagus _now_? Remus' heart leapt into his throat. Did Tonks' bite...? Was that even possible? How could he even ask without revealing anything? "Violet."

She looked at him and he saw that her eyes were back to normal. At least, he _thought_ hazel was normal for her. She tilted her head in a way that was at once sullen, defiant, and vulnerable. "No one's come to visit," she said. "It's just me and my parents."

"You can visit me whenever you want," he promised. "Any time. Day or night."

"That's a really weird thing to say to a kid," she said with a small, twisted smile. "It's kind of creepy."

"I know. I hope you don't take it that way."

She looked slightly mollified. "I don't. I'm not sure why."

"Would you like some tea?" he asked. "Of course," he murmured as she began to shake her head, "you don't like it. Cocoa, perhaps? Or a chocolate bar?"

"Would it be awful to want both?"

"Not at all. Follow me."

"Oh, right," she said as they entered the kitchen and ecountered the cabinets Tonks had scrawled on, "I was meaning to ask about that."

Remus managed to keep himself from slapping his forehead and schooled his features into a semblance of disinterest as he turned on the hob. "Came with the house, unfortunately. I thought I'd be able to spell it off, but no luck." At least the last part was true.

Violet wrinkled her nose. "You should just paint over it. It's awful."

His hands stilled over the cocoa powder as his heart raced on. "I should, shouldn't I? I hadn't really thought about it. I guess I was focused on preserving the wood." He dispensed the cocoa into mugs and drew a chocolate bar from his supply. "Here you go." He sat down opposite her at the small table as she unwrapped her treat. "I'd...like to speak plainly with you."

Violet looked up from the chocolate in interest.

Remus took a shaky breath. "I seem to be of two minds. I feel – well, since I met you, but especially since the night of your first transformation...." She was looking very wary now, but that was the very reason he had to get everything out in the open. "I suppose it might be because we're both werewolves, but I feel a certain...." Good Lord, every word he added on to this monologue was a new minefield. _Don't say connection, and don't you _dare_ say attraction._ "A kinship, I suppose. I don't have any children of my own, but you already feel like a" _daughter _"niece to me. I feel like I should be open with you and have your confidence, but at the same time I _know_ that we don't know each other at all and it takes time to build trust between people. It's been a difficult dichotomy to manage, and I've been acting overly familiar with you and then pulling back abruptly because I know it's inappropriate. I'm sorry for acting so inconsistently, and I'd like to know how you feel about the whole matter. Your comfort is paramount."

Violet sat chewing her chocolate idly. "I guess I know what you mean," she finally said. "I mean, I would _never_ just show up at someone's door unless they're my very best friend, but here I am, you know?"

"Yeah," he said, and he could feel a relieved smile breaking out on his face. He got up to tend to the kettle.

"I even came here to ask a favour of you, but then when you got here I lost my nerve."

"Oh? What's that?" He brought the steaming mugs to the table.

"My sister Pansy said that you used to be a Hogwarts teacher. I was wondering if you could teach me. I'll get my parents to pay you," she continued hastily with a glance around the room, no doubt taking in the shabbiness of her surroundings, "and I'll paint your cupboards."

"It would be my pleasure to tutor you," he said. "I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's been a couple of years, but it'll give me something to do. Lately I've spent my time researching werewolves."

One of Violet's eyebrows shot up. "But you _are _a werewolf."

"So are you. How much do you know about them?"

Her shoulders slumped. "Everything I learned in Hogwarts, plus transforming hurts a lot and you get kicked out of school if you are one."

"Don't forget about the silver," he added with a small smile.

"Right, and the silver thing. Not nearly as bad as I'd assumed from class."

"The information would probably be more accurate if werewolves were invited over for tea instead of stabbed, I'd wager," Remus said, and Violet sniggered a bit.

"Is it really that bad?" she asked. "Do I really have to look forward to being ambushed in alleys on a regular basis?"

Remus shrugged. "It's hard to say. It seems like things are quickly becoming worse for us. Have you been keeping up with the news?" Violet shook her head. "Things are rather complicated. In a nutshell, the Ministry has been handing down all sorts of restrictive decrees – they're setting down guidelines to list us in a registry which seems to have little purpose other than to ostracise us further and they're making formal bans on the types of employment and such that we can take with more severe penalties if we flaunt their rules. They've even been designating some communities, especially small, rich ones, as creature-free. Greyback has lost his head over all this nonsense and is encouraging werewolves to commit terrorist acts against wizards while trying to ally himself with other magical creatures, especially those who are also affected by the Ministry's policies. This just gives the Ministry more reasons to regulate us, which gives Greyback more of a reason to rebel. Wizards are scared, and they're organizing against creatures to make themselves feel better about everything. You've heard of these Redeemers?" She shook her head again. "They were involved in an incident in Dorchester a couple of months ago that resulted in the capture of two fairly benign werewolves, they got another werewolf arrested last week, and word is they stoned a Veela to death recently. The times are dangerous for people like us. Those other werewolves may have been guilty of whatever they were arrested for, but be sure that they'll be disproportionately punished for whatever they did, including breaking the Ministry's arbitrary rules."

Violet pursed her lips. "So it really is that bad, then," she said after a moment of silence.

"There's still hope. Look at your parents, for example."

"My parents," she echoed, her voice flat.

"They allowed me to design a werewolf containment shelter attached to their house after meeting me twice. That shows immense trust and courage-"

Violet snorted.

"Yes, courage," Remus insisted. "They didn't have to trust my design and they didn't have to build it in the house. They must love you very much to put their prejudices aside to help you."

Her eyes darkened, becoming brown again. "They're hoping they can tell their friends I'm a _good_ werewolf."

"You already are a good werewolf," he said. "Violet, I have a question for you and I don't want you to be alarmed at it."

She immediately looked wary. "Okay."

"Have you noticed anything unusual about your eyes lately?"

"Yeah, actually," she said, relaxing and grabbing her cocoa mug. "My eyesight's loads better. It used to be that I'd have to use anti-myopia charms every once in a while to see the blackboard, especially if I hadn't been sleeping much, but now..." She took a sip of cocoa and set her mug down again. "Well, I don't have any blackboard to see now," she grumbled, her eyes becoming even darker than before, "but I don't think I'd need them."

"Come with me," he said, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her off the kichen chair and into his bedroom.

"Oy! What are you doing?" she cried, ceasing to struggle once he turned her to face the dresser.

"Do you...oh, blast, I'm too late," he said, meeting her hazel eyes in the mirror. "Okay, let's try this: I want you to close your eyes and think about the Qwikspell course."

"What?"

"Just do it."

She shrugged and closed her eyes.

"Think about how you felt when your mum gave you the packets. Think about the lessons. Think about how much better Hogwarts is."

"Are you _trying_ to make me angry?" she spat, her eyes still screwed shut.

"Okay, open your eyes."

She did and gasped when she saw her reflection. "Great Merlin!" she breathed, leaning over the dresser to get a closer look at her near-black irises. "That's...hey, it's going away!"

"I noticed it happen when I came in and again in the kitchen," he said. "Your parents haven't remarked upon it?"

"No," she said, still scrutinising her eyes in the mirror. "Is this another werewolf thing they don't teach in school?"

"Not exactly," he said slowly. "You're sure your parents haven't noticed? It seems to happen when you're frustrated or angry, and I'm sure those feelings have come out when they're with you.

The girl braced her palms on the dresser and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "They don't look me in the eyes much anymore."

He grimaced. "That's good, in a way. No one can know about your eyes."

"Are you saying it's a secret werewolf thing?"

A secret werewolf thing. Why hadn't he thought to put it so succinctly? "I think so. You have to understand what a special case you are. You're the first werewolf who was turned outside of the full moon, and your sire was like nothing I've ever seen. He was partially transformed mid-month, in the middle of the day. It seems that he's bestowed some of his exceptional shifting powers on you."

"...So I'm special, then? Your eyes don't do that?"

"No. But Violet, it's imperative that no one find out about your abilities. It would only scare people further. Everyone's panicked enough over a werewolf attack happening midday in the first place. You could be in more danger if others found out."

"So what am I supposed to do, then?" she asked, turning back to the mirror. "Stop getting angry?"

"That couldn't hurt," he agreed wryly. "But if you could possibly learn to control it, that would probably be a better solution."

She stared intensely at her reflection. "Come on," she growled, opening her eyes wider. Remus held his breath as he watched her. "Ow!" she cried a minute later, raising a hand to her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Forgot to blink," she said, waving off his concern. "Sorry, no luck."


End file.
